


so long to learn to read

by orphan_account



Category: EXO (Band), Exo-M
Genre: M/M, is li jia heng legit Kris' chinese name wtf, serial killer oppar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris says Xiumin is the cutest. Tao disagrees. </p><p> </p><p>Yeah this is porn in the bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so long to learn to read

“Tao,” Wu Fan calls when he finally gets the door open, fumbling with the keycard and cursing in English under his breath. “Zitao, manager-ge says we have the rest of the day off. Do you want to go shopping for--” Wu Fan racks his mind for a moment and then shrugs, “--that thing you wanted to shop for?” Wu Fan ruffles his hand through his hair and grimaces at the pull of stiff gel.

“No,” Zitao calls from the bathroom, and the pipes squeal as the shower turns on. Wu Fan peels off his socks and wiggles his toes in the hotel carpet.

“Hey,” he calls, crossing quickly the bathroom door, “hey I gotta pee.” He raps his knuckles sharply against the door and tries the handle. It’s open, and he lets himself in.

“Ge,” Zitao squeaks, and holds his bathrobe closed. Wu Fan snickers at him and fumbles with his belt, pulling it out of his jeans entirely and tossing it back on the bed through the bathroom door.

“I thought you wanted,” Wu Fan sighs in relief as his bladder empties, “that thing you wanted. Didn’t you ask me this morning?” He flushes and goes up next to Zitao at the sink to wash his hands, bumping hips playfully. Zitao peers into the mirror, flicking pieces of his hair this way and that. His lips purse in a failed attempt not to pout.

“Why don’t you go with Xiumin,” he says sulkily, “the cutest.” Wu Fan pauses, and then wraps a hand around Zitao’s neck, dropping cold water down his neck. Zitao twists, scowling up through his bangs.

“Aw come on,” Wu Fan says, grinning, “interview talk is just... interview talk.” He props his chin on Zitao’s shoulder and tries to make his eyes wide and beseeching. Zitao looks faintly disturbed. 

“Don’t do that,” he says, but Wu Fan can tell he’s forgiven. He lets his head loll on Zitao’s shoulder and sighs a little. There’s a tension in his temples that’s been building all day, but the steam from the shower makes his skin feel soft and warm, sleepy. He inhales a little and smells Zitao’s hair.

“Ge?” Zitao asks, and Wu Fan jerks back.

“Sorry,” he mutters, “sorry sorry.” He runs his fingers through his hair again. Zitao catches his arm as he turns to leave and pulls him into a hug. Wu Fan stiffens and then relaxes a little, smiling.

“What’s that for,” he asks, and Zitao flushes a little, already pink in the cheeks from the heat of the shower wafting out behind them. He shrugs, and the movement shifts his robe. Wu Fan can see the light flush extends down his chest, the muscles shifting under his skin. 

“Ge-” Zitao says, probably as a prelude to get out so I can shower, but he doesn’t get to finish because Wu Fan leans in to kiss him. The angle is awkward, and Wu Fan bumps their noses together painfully. Zitao leans back into the shower curtain and grabs at Wu Fan’s shoulders to keep from falling over the edge of the tub. Wu Fan pulls back a little and stares.

“Oh no,” he says in English, “oh, god.” He turns back, almost blindly fumbling for the door, and Zitao grabs his hand again, spinning him back. He holds his hands out in front of him. “Zitao-skdfjdn” he’s cut off by Zitao’s tongue in his mouth. “Ummffh,” he mumbles, and his back hits the door. He wraps his fingers around Zitao’s biceps and pushes down hard, runs his tongue over Zitao’s teeth.

“Ge,” Zitao says when they break for air, his chest heaving. Wu Fan reaches out a hand and lays it flat against Zitao’s chest, his robe gaping open.

“I--” he says, “just--come here, come here, Jesus--” he yanks Zitao back against him, up on his tiptoes and kisses him slower, longer, dipping down and up again. He keeps his eyes open until Zitao bites as his lip and presses him harder against the door. the handle digs painfully into Wu Fan’s back, and he slides down it to appreciate the angle of Zitao above him, Zitao’s fingers digging into his shoulders. He pulls blindly at the robe, opening it up fully in hard jerks, and runs his fingertips down Zitao’s torso. Zitao sighs, sitting back on his heels, eyes half lidded. Wu Fan is sitting slumped against the door, the tiles cold on his legs and feet. His lips feel swollen. He trails his fingers down Zitao’s chest to his belly, skimming the very tops of his hipbones before undoing the belt with a quick movement.

Zitao shudders, and Wu Fan pushes him back until he’s lying flat against the floor with Wu Fan pressing all along against him, on top of him. Wu Fan runs the flat of his palm across Zitao’s ribcage, over and down his hip curving around until the tips of his fingers are creeping up Zitao’s upper thigh. Zitao gasps sharply into Wu Fan’s mouth and bucks against him. Wu Fan tips his head to the side and bites at the underside of Zitao’s jaw until he’s quivering underneath him, drags his teeth down the length of Zitao’s neck.

“Unh,” Zitao breathes, “oh-oh unh, Kris--” His accent breaks over Wu Fan’s English name Kree-ise. He struggles under Wu Fan, the robe catching his arms and keeping them flat against the floor. Wu Fan curls his tongue around a nipple, and rubs himself on Zitao’s thigh. He moans a little, and rests his cheek on Zitao’s chest, heaving with the force of his breath. Zitao’s skin is slick with sweat and his face slides a little with every inhale and exhale. He reaches down and curls a gentle fist around Zitao’s cock. 

Zitao arches up with a shout that echoes. His fingers scrabble at the grout between the tiles. Wu Fan pants, pressing his face into the space between Zitao’s hipbones as he wiggles down Zitao’s body. He feels heady. He bites a dark purple mark into Zitao’s inner thigh, watching Zitao’s cock twitch and flush the harder he sucks at his skin. Wu Fan fumbles at his zip and breathes out when he frees himself, pressing the heel of his hand against himself to relieve the pressure. He wraps his hands around Zitao’s thighs and pushes them further apart, until the muscles and tendons stand out sharply against his skin. He presses his fingers into Zitao’s skin until he’s sure they’re going to leaves maps of his touch for days.

“Fuck,” he breathes in English, “you’re so beautiful, you’re fucking gorgeous, Jesus Tao.” Zitao mumbles something in broken Mandarin, twitching. He shoves himself up to wrestle out of the sleeves of the robe and props himself on his elbows. Wu Fan looks up at him from in between his legs. Zitao’s pupils are completely blown, fully dilated. When he tips his head back sweat makes his neck gleam. The fluorescent lights make the bags under his eyes look darker than they really are. Wu Fan makes a circle around the base of Zitao’s cock with his index finger and thumb, long fingers slipping up and down gently. He runs the very tip of his tongue up Zitao’s cock once, twice. Zitao’s hand clenches in his hair, painfully tight, and then stops, smoothes over his scalp in apology. Wu Fan takes a deep breath and closes his lips over Zitao’s cock, his tongue heavy on the base, and bobs his head slowly. Zitao makes a broken noise and bucks helplessly into his mouth, making pull back and push down again, wet and sloppy, in time with the motion of Zitao’s hips.

Wu Fan breaks away and pants against Zitao’s hip, breath dragging harshly. He moves up until he’s straddling Zitao and bends to kiss him, open mouthed and filthy, tasting like Zitao’s skin and little drops of his come. When he sits his weight down on Zitao’s hips he gasps, mouth falling slack. Zitao sits up, abdonimal muscles trembling with the strain, and Wu Fan’s head rolls on his shoulder and he grinds down in long circles. Zitao pulls down in his hips hard and turns the circles into short hard jerks. Wu Fan gasps and shudders, licking sloppily into the hollow of Zitao’s throat.

“Wait,” he mumbles, “just hold--” He half crawls off Zitao to grab at the edge of the tub, knocking product off with a plastic clatter, fumbling until he grabs at a bottle. He checks it, conditioner, perfect. When he sits back on Zitao’s legs he rubs himself down once, twice before fiddling with the top. He squeezes too hard, and it falls thick and heavy across his hands and dripping down. It’s cold against Zitao’s skin and he hisses a little.

“Sshh,” he says, and rubs it into his skin, over and over. He lays himself down over Zitao again and kisses him again, slow building fire. He pulls back slowly, so slowly, and Zitao rises with him rather than break their kiss. Wu Fan presses him to the floor again and cups the conditioner in his palms until it’s a little warmer. He kicks a little, working his pants down with one hand, and Zitao murmurs into his neck, helping him yank down his underwear. Wu Fan slips the tip of one slender finger into Zitao, and he goes stiff under him, every muscle clenched. Wu Fan smoothes one hand down his torso and kisses the side of his neck sweetly. He murmurs nonsense and works his finger in down to the knuckle. Zitao sighs, relaxing, and Wu Fan searches for the spot that makes Zitao start moving with him, his teeth sinking deep into his lower lip. He adds another finger, his middle finger, the longest, and keeps going until Zitao opens up loose around his fingers and is fucking himself back on Wu Fan’s hand. He pulls out and Zitao keens a little, hips twitching. Wu Fan reaches down and slicks himself up, trembling as he holds himself above Zitao, and leans down until they’re sharing the same air.

“Breathe,” he whispers, and then kisses Zitao, closed mouth and chaste, as he presses the tip of his cock into him. Zitao tenses, and Wu Fan gently slips his tongue into his mouth, licking sweet and gentle until Zitao opens up under him, goes loose and pliant and wide eyed. Wu Fan breaks their kiss and pants, their temples against each other, damp with sweat.  
“Okay,” he gasps.

“Okay,” Zitao murmurs, and spreads his legs a little wider. Wu Fan slips in farther and his mouth goes slack. He can feel the curve of Zitao’s smile against his cheek. Zitao hooks a leg up over Wu Fan’s hips and rolls his body up as he brings his leg down.

“Unhh,” Wu Fan gasps brokenly, and starts to move, slowly until Zitao’s other leg comes up and urges him to go faster, until the force of his thrusts are moving them in tiny increments across the floor, his bare feet squeaking against the tiles as he searches for purchase. “Zitao,” he whispers, and leans to one side, pistoning up and down instead of in and out, uses his other hand to slip between them and move up and down on Zitao’s cock in time with the movement of his hips, and then faster and out of time as he starts to lose control.

Zitao comes with his back arched like a bowstring ready to fire and his teeth sunk into Wu Fan’s shoulder deep enough for tiny droplets of blood to well up and smear across his skin. He goes limp on the floor, breathing hard, and Wu Fan bends his body, sucking kisses and bites across Zitao’s chest as he fucks him into the floor until Zitao’s tailbone is bruising on the hard tile. Wu Fan comes with a guttural noise, a sharp deep cry, and keeps moving inside Zitao, slowing until they’re rocking gently, barely moving, Wu Fan collapsed heavy on Zitao and Zitao making pained sounds of oversensitization.

Wu Fan pulls out, his face still pressed into Zitao’s neck, and slips his fingers through Zitao’s hair when he cries out at the loss. He rolls on his side and Zitao moves his head to the side so their noses brush.

“Hi,” Zitao says softly, his breathing easing.

“Hi,” Wu Fan says, still panting. He kisses the tip of Zitao’s nose. “You are the cutest,” he says, “Jesus.” He throws an arm over his eyes and tries to slow the fast rise and fall of his chest. Zitao laughs, and groans as he moves to tangle their legs together. Smeared lines of his come stay moist on Wu Fan’s chest because of the steam of the shower, still running behind them. He can feel more come dripping down his thighs.

“I want to go shopping,” he says, closing his eyes and pressing his head into the side of Wu Fan’s neck. Curious, he leans closer and closes his teeth around the metal stud in Wu Fan’s ear. Wu Fan’s breath freezes in his chest. His eyes darken. “I’ll make it worth your while,” Zitao says, and bites his own namebrand into the thick muscle of Wu Fan’s shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> li jia heng?? wtf?? Is this another thing that I learn way after everyone else and proves that I'm a shitty fan? ALSO I THOUGHT I POSTED THIS HERE ALREADY?? WHY AM I SUCH A FAILURE?


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